


Tonight Thank God It's Them (Instead of You)

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Angst, Catholic, Christmas, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Religion, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Day comes as a surprise during the apocalypse, and Simon has kind of lost his taste for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight Thank God It's Them (Instead of You)

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of corporal punishment and spoilers for Simon's backstory. Set pre-S1

"Bloody hell, it’s Christmas day."

The revelation comes three kilometers into a run, heading through the park and out towards one of the villages, and it actually jerks Simon out of his rhythm for a few moments.

"What?" Sam asks over the earpiece, and Thirteen’s looking at him oddly. Dour guy that one. Not exactly the best conversationalist, but at least he won’t give death glares like Eight whenever they’re partnered. 

"Is it really?" Sam asks and Simon can hear the rustle of paper as if that’s gonna magically tell him what day it is. "I didn't know."

"Well, we’ve not exactly been keeping scrupulous track of the dates," Simon replies. 

"How do you know then?" Sam asks incredulously.

"I saw the date on Jenny’s watch the other day. It only just clicked. Not that it makes much difference."

Thirteen snorts. “I don’t think the zombies care that much about Holy Days,” he says dryly.

"Yeah, me either," Sam says, "which kind of sucks because you've picked up a pack of them. Five? No, seven zoms, and you know they just keep picking up more."

"So much for a civilised morning jaunt, eh Thirteen?" Simon says.

"There’s nothing civilised about morning runs," Thirteen grumbles, giving him a sour look. "I hate morning people."

"Oh well, good thing we never crossed paths before," Simon replies with a wide grin.

They duck through woods, down between a couple of park buildings and hell, jump over the stagnant ornamental stream which usually works to shake them, but these ones must be particularly determined ‘cause nothing seems to deter them. By the time they get into town, there’s five more and that, that is never good news.

"Guys," Sam says, his voice shaky, "guys you need to get out of there. There’s another few shamblers a couple of streets over and if they join up you’ll end up cut off!"

"Great," Thirteen mutters, putting a burst of speed on. He’s faster than Simon, but not as agile and definitely not as strong when it comes to long-distance. Simon can see the sheen of sweat standing out on his face, his breath coming a bit too uneven.

"Sam, we could really use a way out about now!" Simon says. He risks a glance over his shoulder. Yep, definitely closer. Too close for comfort and he swears they’re moving faster. But that’s how things go these days isn’t it? You think you’ve got things pegged and then they screw up in an entirely new sort of way. They’ll be seeing running 28 Days style zombies any day now at this rate.

"I’m- I’m checking!" Sam says. panic. That’s not good. He isn’t exactly good under pressure. 

The groans are louder now, and that and the walls of the buildings make them sound a lot closer. Or maybe they really are that close and Simon’s just being overly hopeful.

"Alright!" Sam says finally. "If… if you head around the corner, there’s a church a little way off. Can you see it? It’s got a tower you should be able to get into. Janine says it has a trapdoor you can close."

A church. “Well, I suppose I might get to Christmas Day Mass after all,” Simon mutters, giving a breathless laugh that is almost entirely devoid of humour.

The zombies catch up when they reach the graveyard. Of course they do. It’s almost painfully cliche. At least they don’t come bursting out of the ground like they do in films. That would suck.

The church door is mercifully open, broken off the hinges actually which is great for them but also pretty great for the zombies including the one with the dog collar that lunges at them when they get inside. 

"Sh-" Simon starts to swear, then catches himself out of pure reflex, remembering too many times when he’d got his hands or the backs of his legs rapped with a ruler for swearing. Or smoking. Or making out with one of students from the girls school next door. Or… well, he remembers very clearly the burning pain of it and it still has some kind of power.

"Get the flipping trapdoor open!" He shouts to Thirteen while he tries to lead the zombies out of the way. Pews confuse them apparently, and it buys them enough time to get the door open.

Thirteen gives him a lift while the zoms are still tripping over pews and the table of hymnbooks he’d shoved in the way, and Simon reaches down to pull him up just as the ex-priest groans and lunges forward.

His muscles scream at him but he manages it. Hauls Thirteen up into the musty space of the tower, the heavy bells hanging ominously above and tarpaulins covering a bunch of junk. Old hymn books and battered collection plates and a heavy brass cross that is seriously ugly. Probably gifts to the church that they couldn’t get rid of but couldn’t really display either. Simon leans back against the wall, laughing again and he knows he sounds a bit manic but adrenaline does that to him. Always has.

"Not exactly how I planned on spending Christmas," he says.

"It definitely puts family arguments to shame," Thirteen says darkly and takes up a spot in the opposite corner, legs stretched out in front of him, covered in dirt and grime and mud that drips onto the floor. "Even my mother-in-law was better than zombies."

"I know what you mean. I didn’t think anything could top that Christmas when my nan got me an illustrated copy of the Book of Revelations for Christmas."

"She must have been… pious."

"I was nine." 

"Right."

Well, if he’d thought religion had killed conversations before the apocalypse, that’s apparently nothing compared to now but still he babbles, because it’s better than hearing the groans of zombies beneath them. He hopes Sam sends someone soon.

"She was pious, yeah," he says. "Christmas was a real blast let me tell you. Midnight Mass was always pretty though." Might have ended up not caring for the message, but the ceremony of it… well, maybe it’s just built into him, like a healthy fear of ruler wielding nuns and the Latin from school and his nan that he can still rattle off when he needs to. 

He’s never actually needed to but it makes a good party trick after a few shots.

"I- I was always more C of E," Thirteen says, coughing to clear his throat. "Took my sister’s kids to-" cough "-Sorry, to Christingle though. They-" cough "-they always liked the-" cough.

The next noise in a guttural groan and Simon’s already moving before the life even bleeds out of Thirteen’s eyes. He grabs the first thing that comes to hand, that hideous brass crucifix with the heavy base, and brings it down with a sickening crack before Thirteen can even drag itself to it’s feet. It doesn’t move again, but it does bleed a bit and Simon moves quickly out of the way.

He hauls himself up the flight of steps to the narrow bit of ledge overlooking the bells, and curls up at the edge, arms wrapped around his head and the cross leaning accusingly against the wall.

"Sam mate," he says quietly, a supplication, "Sam, that’s a rescue for one."


End file.
